Second Choices, Second Chances
by ray4ruffles
Summary: a glee prom story about what you want and what you get, and sometimes not realizing that one is the other- puckleberry, with a pezberry friendship.
1. Why Not Me?

A/N: so, I know I already wrote a puckleberry prom story (A Glee Prom, if you missed it), but then I found out a ~new~ spoiler, and I decided that it warranted it's very own version of the event. So this is it :)

SPOILER: kurt does come back to new directions (who didn't see that one coming?), lauren and quinn are both going at it for prom queen, and rachel has ~two~ dates for prom. that is the only knowledge i possess about the episode; everything else was created in my pez/puckleberry-loving mind. and brittana. but no love for luck-boo to luck.

* * *

><p>"Damn it Britt! You love me—you know you love me!"<p>

The blonde looked pained at the hurt in her friend's eyes. "I do love you Sanny," she replied softly. "But I'm with Artie, and he's going to ask me…"

"But he hasn't yet!" the Latina countered. "Doesn't that mean anything to you, that I asked first? That I got this for you?" She let the back of her hand graze along the soft bloom, now pinned delicately in the other's cornsilk locks.

Brittany smiled, her blue eyes glistening, their hue almost identical to the flower in her hair. "I love the High Sin flower, Sanny." The dark-haired girl smirked at the (highly appropriate) mispronunciation, but her face fell in disappointment as she continued, "But Artie's my boyfriend, and he'd be hurt if I went without him." Brittany patted the other girl's arm.

Santana pressed her hands into her face to keep from screaming (or crying, but she'd never admit _that_). "Fine," she bit, pulling her body away (how did the Amazonian beauty have this effect on her?) "I've got plenty of options—I'll just find someone else. See you there."

She spun away, ignoring the blonde girl's calls after her as she stormed down the hall. Santana was hot, and she was popular; she could have any guy she wanted take her to Prom.

But, if she was being truly honest (something she rarely allowed herself to be), she asked Brittany because she loved her, and she wanted to go with the girl that made her heart do somersaults over itself. She didn't care what everyone else thought about her being…whatever she was (Santana still refused to use a label); she just wanted to be whatever it was with Brittany.

But Britt was with Wheels, and she wasn't budging from his crippled self. So Santana would have to find someone else to take her. However, going over the choices, it wasn't looking so good. She'd ditched Sam (Froggy Lips just wasn't doing for her anymore- apparently he found her nicknames offensive or something), and Puck was with Beluga Mama, and, to tell the truth, she didn't really want to go with some guy that just wanted to hook up afterward anyways (not that she wouldn't, whether she gave a shit about them or not). What she needed was a way to make Brittany notice her, make her jealous. She needed…

The Latina smiled when she saw her target. Brunette and brown-eyes made their way towards the lockers, never realizing they were being watched. Santana zeroed in and followed.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Puck and Lauren were hanging out down the hall. He'd brought her a box of Cadberry eggs (he'd decided to stock up while they were in season) and now they were laughing about something some dork in her English class had said.<p>

"So, I'll grab the tickets today at lunch?" he asked her.

"Tickets?" Lauren asked, her expression puzzled.

"Yeah, you know—Prom?" the mowhawked boy clarified. "I'll pick you up at seven, we'll go to Breadsticks, dance the night away? Only, we're gonna have to take my truck; I can't afford a limo." He didn't add that he'd also depleted his budget by getting them a room on the third floor (hey, the damn thing was at a fucking hotel—if that wasn't a giant advertisement for making his move and getting some, he didn't know what was), because he didn't think she would appreciate it now like she would then. His plan was to argue later that he wanted it to be a surprise—romantic, or some shit.

The bespeckled beauty nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, about that," she told him. "I'm breaking up with you."

Zizes was calm about most everything. Whether she was happy or insulting someone, it was always in a level tone, so Puck didn't process what she'd said for a second.

But then the next second happened. "Wait, what?"

"It was good while it lasted Puckerman, but I'm moving on," she replied, patting his shoulder.

"You're dumping me? What the fuck-why?" Puck shouted; he was never really good with maintaining a cool exterior when he was pissed. Blame his daddy issues.

Lauren gave him a hard, appraising look. "Sorry Puck; but if I'm serious about winning this Prom Queen thing, I've got to bring my A-game. Polls just came out, and being seen with a Lima-loser like you is really cramping my style."

"What are you talking about babe—I'm totally badass." Puck's eyebrow quirked incredulously to hide the sting of the insult. Why did chicks always fucking feel the need to throw in _Lima_? Wasn't calling him a god damn loser in general enough?

"No," Lauren corrected him. "You _were_ badass. Now the jocks think you're a loser and the losers think you're an asshole. I need a front-runner if I'm going to wipe the floor with Fabray, and you're not it. Sorry."

Puck was stunned as she turned to walk away. She'd only gone five steps when she turned back to him and delivered the final blow: "Oh, and I'm quitting Glee. Pass it along, okay?"

And with that, she left the boy in the dust.

By lunch it had gotten around what went down, or at least that's what the stocky boy had figured based off of the information delivered by Jew-Fro (looking for an exclusive) before Puck dumpster-tossed his sorry ass.

God damn it, this was embarrassing. He needed to recover from this mess, and fast. Prom was right around the fucking corner, and he needed a date—like yesterday. Puck figured if he brought a chick to the dance, plus let word get around about that empty room in his name, then Zizes and the rest of the fuckers in this school would have nothing on him.

Unfortunately, the pickings were a little slim this close to the big event. He couldn't remember which Cheerios were single anymore (he'd been kind of distracted lately and had stopped paying attention, what with the short leash Z had him on), and didn't want to risk spreading this fucking shit any further by being rejected by some chick with a superiority complex. He needed a surefire in.

He skipped Geometry again; Artie'd be upset, but Puck needed to lie down and think before school got out. As he stared upwards at the dull white ceiling, he considered his options.

By the day's end, he had a plan.

* * *

><p>AN: in case you missed it, the flower Santana bought for Britt was a hyacinth- it means sincerity, which is sort of appropriate (or at least it probably was until she got shot down).


	2. Unlikely Choices

For Rachel Berry, it had been a normal day, more or less. She'd been slushied upon arriving to school, so she was wearing her back-up outfit before first period. She'd paid attention in class, sort of, and ignored any sorts of probing questions by Jacob Ben-Israel (she was really considering following through with that restraining order), and had made her way to the cafeteria for lunch. But she was hesitating.

Because it wasn't really a normal day. Announcements for Prom had started going up: over the loudspeakers, on posters plastered in the halls, and in romantic (and not as much) gestures from some of the more creative student body. So during class, while she was half-listening and taking vague notes that would need hours of pouring over a textbook later to decipher, she was actually thinking about what kind of dress she would wear. And when Jacob harassed her in the halls, it was about her thoughts about her teammates (one now former, apparently) going head-to-head for Queen.

And now, during lunch, Rachel would have to again acknowledge that horrid feeling of transparency as she walked in the cafeteria and tried not to see the line for people purchasing tickets. She felt that it was painfully obvious that she had no date, and she feared that if she chose to attend, it would be alone, or tagging along as an odd-wheel with a group of her Glee-mates.

She knew Finn was out of the question—he was still firmly attached with Quinn, and, despite her wish for reconciliation, she wondered if maybe Quinn was who he deserved. Someone that could achieve the level of popularity that was so important to survive in this school; that was a more familiar type of high maintenance. Someone that could tell him what was important and be right. Perhaps, if she was honest, that was what he deserved.

And she hadn't been completely ignored in regards to requests for her company; she would just rather permanently mutilate both of her ankles and rip out her precious vocal cords than attend any sort of function with Jacob Ben-Israel.

Which brought her mind back to the door of the cafeteria, swinging open and shut as students rushed past her, a rock in a current of activity.

She didn't want to face it today, the brunette decided. She didn't want to see who would be the next Calvin Sorren and stand on his table, forcing the JV basketball team to spout out a cheer asking for the Varsity Captain's girlfriend to attend the dance with him. Or another Paul McDaniel, covering the windows in shaving cream spelling out "PAUL+DES=PROM?" Or worst of all, watching Quinn Fabray smiling and schmoozing like crazy with the student body while Finn gave his goofy grin and nodded along as he followed her around with those big puppy eyes, their hands permanently fused. It was just too much.

The diva made her way back to her locker, scurrying down the hall with no look to any of her peers. She removed some of the sheet music, fussing with the books crammed together in the tight metal box, and then flitted toward the choir room.

The tiny girl didn't even realize that she'd been followed until she heard the voice.

"Man Hands," Santana's voice rang out (Rachel never could dismiss the excellent acoustics in the room, even when they were being used to insult her), and the brunette watched as the ex-Cheerio shut the door behind her forcefully and turned back to stare her down. "You're going with me to Prom—I'll meet you at your house at 7 with the tickets; you're buying dinner."

Rachel's eyebrows disappeared under her bangs in her surprise. Out of all the Gleeks who were eligible to request her presence as a date, this was the last person she would have guessed to employ such an option. "As flattered as I am by your desire to attend the dance with me, Santana—"

"I could care less about you, Treasure Trail," the Latina retorted. "But I need a date and the guys at this school are seriously lacking; and I know you don't have one."

"Regardless," the smaller girl insisted, blushing furiously. Did she need to be so blunt about her status? "While, as the daughter of two gay fathers, I'm entirely supportive of all forms of loving relationships, I must inform you that I myself am quite heterosexual."

"You're missing the point, RuPaul." The taller girl closed the gap between them, hovering over the petite diva at an unnervingly close distance. "I don't want you—I don't care who _you_ want. I just need a date to make—" She cut herself off, seemingly surprised by what she had almost revealed to the diva. "To show anyone that I can be with anyone I want. Got it?"

Rachel studied her teammate carefully. She didn't really see a way out of the situation she'd found herself in: it wasn't as though she had a date, and when Santana set her mind to something, her ambition rivaled Rachel's very own. Besides, it might be nice to be there with _someone_, even if it was the hostile Latina.

"Fine," the brunette conceded, taking a deep breath. "But I'm insisting on the condition that you do not address me by any demeaning names, such as all of those you've managed to apply in the less than ten sentences just utilized in order to converse with myself."

"Fine, _Berry_," the other replied, rolling her eyes. "But _I'm_ picking the restaurant _and_ coordinating our dresses—I'm not going to have you embarrass me with some crazy-ass fuzzy animal POS."

"You can choose the color, but I insist on having my own style of attire," Rachel asserted, straightening her posture as she got a feel for the negotiation.

"Fine, but I get veto power, and _you're_ buying the corsages," Santana responded, determined to have the upper hand.

The smaller girl hesitated a moment. "And if this turns out to be some elaborate prank designed to ruin me in a _Carrie_-esque fashion, I feel that I should preemptively remind you that my father is a lawyer and will bring the full power of the ACLU down upon your person—"

"Shut up Berry—it's not a trick. Do we have a deal?"

One more pause, and the tiny hand extended to grasp the tanned one. Rachel Berry officially had a date to Prom.


	3. Let's Bop

Puck felt a little skeazy as he walked toward Glee practice. He knew what he had planned was not just a little manipulative, and had a high likelihood of losing him his best friend _again_. But, if there was anything he'd learned growing up, it was that it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.

In honor of Prom, Schue had decided everyone would sing dance songs. It had been interesting—Santana had belted Donna Summer's Last Dance; Finn had made an effort to pull off Springsteen with Dancing in the Dark (complete with dorky dance); Artie and Sam had teamed up to sing Crocodile Rock; and Rachel, Mercedes, Tina, and Kurt had gotten together to sing Boogie Wonderland (the return of Beyonce had come as a huge relief to the team as they looked toward Nationals).

When he entered the room, the team's chatter became suddenly hushed, and he knew that the news of him and Lauren had already made the rounds and become fodder for his teammates.

"Mr. Schue," the mowhawked boy spoke up, ignoring the glances cast in his direction. "I've got my song ready."

The curly-haired teacher smiled and gestured for him to go ahead.

"I recently got some news that kinda changed my Prom plans," he stated to the group. "But I realized I'm better off for it, and found solace in an anthem in my traditional Jewish repertoire." He winked at Berry as the last word spilled from his lips, and by her grin he knew she was proud of his attempt to expand his vocabulary.

Puck nodded to the drummer as he pulled out his guitar, and the group began clapping and singing the intro with him as their eyes lit up in recognition.

_Aey oh, let's go  
>Aey oh, let's go<br>Aey oh, let's go  
>Aey oh, let's go<em>

_They're formin' in a straight line_  
><em>They're goin' through a tight one<em>  
><em>The kids are losin' their minds<em>  
><em>The Blitzkrieg bop<em>

He made his move now, pulling Berry out in front with him. They did this sort of shimmy thing together, and pretty soon (hopefully before it was too obvious what he was planning) Brittany was pulling Artie out next to them, shortly followed by Tina and Mike and Mercedes and Kurt.

_They're pilin' in the back seat  
>They generate steam heat<br>Pulsatin' to the back beat  
>The Blitzkrieg bop<em>

And when Santana joined the party and slid in between them, he let the diva go (since not only did that make him look like he wasn't purposely choosing Berry, but it was also damn hot to watch the Latina suddenly get possessive of the crazy midget).

Puck took the lead again, all of them fist-pumping and jumping around as he sang out the chorus.

_Aey oh, let's go  
>Shoot 'em in the back now<br>What they want? I don't know  
>They're all revved up and ready to go<br>_

_They're pilin' in the back seat  
>They generate steam heat<br>Pulsatin' to the back beat  
>The Blitzkrieg bop<em>

He was back in it, smirking and getting all in Berry's face, but she was grinning like crazy and having a good time, so Puck decided he wasn't really overstepping his bounds.

_Aey oh, let's go  
>Aey oh, let's go<br>Aey oh, let's go  
>Aey oh, let's go!<em>

"Alright guys!" Mr. Schue called out, clapping his hands as he stood. All around Puck the group was cheering and laughing and hugging. "That's what I'm talking about!" Puck squeezed Berry's hand and shot her a quick smirk before slipping back into his seat. He didn't miss the confused/irritated look Finn had miserably tried to hide from the performance.

After Schue excused them for the day, he waited for the others to drift out the door, lost in their dance plans. He noticed Finn approaching him from the corner of his eye, but breathed a small sigh of relief when Quinn sidled up beside him and guided him out the door. He wanted to make sure they had something to fight _about_ before they actually exchanged words.

And finally it was just him and the midget. She smiled at him as she finished packing her things, her mouth forming the beginning of a long-worded compliment/critique that he didn't have time for.

He didn't give her any notice, just strode right up to her and grabbed her arm. "Berry, I need you to go to Prom with me," he stated simply.

She looked up at him in surprise before replying gently, "I'm sorry Noah, I can't—"

Wrong answer. "Come on Berry, you owe me—big time," he insisted.

Her sympathetic look turned into incensed disbelief. "_Excuse_ me?" she retorted.

Puck didn't back down. "You owe me," he repeated. "Every time you asked me to do something, I've been there without question: when you wanted to do that stupid _Run Joey Run_ video; when you wanted to sing that Lady Antebellum duet; when you wanted to get back at Finn for sleeping with Santana; when you were stuck in the Christmas tree lot—" watching her face flinch at the memory of that last one made him wish he hadn't said it, made him wish she hadn't _had_ to call him asking for a ride; but it was too late now, so he pressed on. "I've helped you every time you needed it, and now I'm asking for you to return the favor. Go to the Prom with me."

He watched her considering him; he _had_ realized when he'd thought about the things he'd done for her that his top priority had been to make out with her (girl was a fucking awesome kisser, and he was willing to wager his balls that she would be the shit in bed), and he wondered if she'd call him on it.

Instead, she simply told him, "Santana has already asked to escort me."

Puck's face went wide with surprise—when did Satan and Berry get along (although that did explain the dance sequence)? But then he saw the opportunity in the statement. "Perfect," he told her. "Two dates is just enough for the Puckerone."

"Noah," the brunette was looking at him with those wide doe eyes that made him want to do whatever would make her happy (second priority for all the things he'd done with her, though he'd never admit it). "If this is about you and Lauren's recent severance —"

He held up his free hand to stop her next words. "I know what it looks like Berry. But I…I can't let her be right, okay? I can't let another girl call me a fucking Lima Loser and have them be _right_." He ran his hand through his strip of hair, keeping his eyes anywhere but on hers. "So go with me?"

Puck could hear the crazy whirring of her brain, probably gearing up to tell him something that was supposed to be supportive or uplifting about the future and how all this was fucking temporary or not important or some bullshit; but apparently she chose instead to simply give in to what he wanted. "I'll speak to Santana—but _you're_ paying for dinner."

As she began relaying the agreed-upon details, his hazel eyes lit up with his face as he pulled her into a tight hug, his mind resounding in celebration at his luck.

* * *

><p>AN: song was The Ramones _Blitzkrieg Bop_. If you've never heard it, shame on you!

So, just to make sure everybody is on the same page- we're back to the Glee team as of "Furt" (yes Kurt, no Lauren, no Blaine- though he will be in this story)


	4. Change Your Mind

The next day Rachel walked through the hall lost in thought. She was still trying to wrap her mind around how she'd gone from having no date to having _two_ for the same event. It had been an interesting spectacle in the cafeteria that lunch period, with Noah trying to buy tickets for three and the Prom committee initially refusing him based on protocol. It was then that the petite brunette had brought down the entire force of her father's standing as a lawyer and the discrimination involved and had been able to persuade the poor freshmen to reconsider.

She thought that what was especially strange was that they'd come to _her_. She and Santana had spent the majority of high school locking horns, so to speak, and surely she had friends or suitors that could succeed in whatever she was trying to accomplish by taking Rachel. As for Noah, while she couldn't personally verify his reputation as a sex god, based on her own knowledge of his amazing arms and kissing prowess, not to mention what she'd heard floating through the gossip mill, she had trouble believing he couldn't easily access a date with any girl he wanted—whether they were with someone already or not—regardless of the current scandal between himself and Lauren.

However, she could also see in his hazel eyes that he was hurting and simply trying to use his bravado to mask the chink in his armor left by Lauren's rejection.

And she supposed that was the point of it. Both her dates had opened their hearts, something entirely new to them, and both had had the door slammed in their face, to varying degrees of public knowledge. Perhaps they felt that she could understand, or at least sympathize, better than the others.

Or perhaps they had just, as they'd so frankly stated, simply chosen to capitalize on the fact that she was single.

Regardless of the reason, she found herself enjoying the prospect of attending this high school rite of passage with someone, and didn't hate spending her lunch listening to her dates argue over the details of the evening. Santana, though initially irritated by her "ex" hoarding in on her date, had grudgingly relented, and was now negotiating to basically use him as means of payment for the night.

Though Noah continually insisted he didn't have the means to pay for everything, Santana convinced him to cover dinner (callously insisting both she and Rachel together would still eat less than his previous date), the tickets, and the corsages (she insisted, acting surprisingly thoughtful, that both of them have one).

After the details had been hammered out, the two settled back into an expletive-heavy, semi-playful banter that the brunette recognized as all-too familiar for them. While, for once, she didn't have anything to really add to the conversation, she did notice that Santana spent much of her time playing with the other girl's hand, weaving her fingers in and out of her own, while Noah's would possessively trail lightly upon the small of her back.

She didn't doubt that this was only a prelude to the event itself, and really hoped that neither of them were considering any sort of _ménage et trios_.

* * *

><p>As if lunch itself hadn't been odd enough, she had to suppress a groan when she saw a gawky teen with an easy smile (though not present in his expression at the moment) making his way toward her as she rummaged through her locker for her next class.<p>

"You're really going with Puck?" he demanded incredulously, and the tiny brunette took a deep breath. She'd been expecting this actually, although she had allowed a small part of her to remain hopeful that it might not occur—especially not loudly and in the hallway surrounded by passerby's.

When she didn't answer, didn't even turn to look at him, Finn continued, "You know he's taking Santana too? That he's only using you both, trying to make Lauren jealous and keep his precious reputation intact?" He groaned, slamming his hand into the locker next to hers and causing her to flinch. "Jesus Rachel, I thought you were smarter than this!"

She whirled around to face him. "I know perfectly well what Noah's going through presently," she informed her Co-captain and once love. "I also know that he and Santana have been nothing but pleasant to me since I accepted, and that he's been a perfect gentlemen about paying for everything, so all that is required is that I accompany him." Okay, the gentlemen comment was a lie—he and the Latina had fought tooth and nail over who was paying for what—but they had been quite decent to her and _she_ wasn't actually paying for anything, so she decided it was true enough for the present conversation. "He's my friend, Finn, and we're _going_ as friends."

"_I'm_ your friend, Rache," the tall boy insisted, locking eyes as his face inched closer to hers, causing the back of her mind to hope fervently that Quinn was nowhere near. "Puck doesn't do friends with girls—he has fuck buddies, and by going with him to Prom, you're putting yourself at risk."

The petite girl had to use all of her willpower to keep from rolling her eyes and huffing in his face. Honestly, while she had always dreamed of being championed by an adoring suitor, this dance with Finn was getting tedious. Because he wasn't a suitor now; he was an acquaintance, a friend. A friend who apparently took an active dislike to any boy that showed an interest in her; while continuously staying _thisclose_, even when he was happily involved in a relationship with the Queen Bee of McKinley High.

She hadn't told anyone, but she knew. She knew about the promise he'd forced out of Noah in exchange for the renewal of their friendship—about staying away from her. It had come out when Artie was tutoring him in Geometry and had suggested he could get his grades up in all of his courses with a little help. When Artie suggested Rachel, Noah had shot him down instantly: blaming it first on her long-winded lectures, then on her bossiness, then on her general crazy, before finally coming clean about why he couldn't be around his fellow Jew. Artie had informed Rachel, who, having offered to help in the first place, was shocked and saddened to hear the lengths that Noah was willing to go to keep his friendship intact, and the lengths Finn was willing to go to keep them apart.

She'd tried to help anyway, instead passing copies of her notes and work to Artie, who, between spending time with Brittany and tutoring Noah was beginning to feel overwhelmed. She didn't know if the muscular boy had found out that she was helping, but she never heard about it, and she never asked.

And now she was standing face-to-face with Finn, again working to keep them apart, as if (though she knew he'd _never_ do this on purpose) to keep her waiting for him on the sidelines in case things should again fail with his Quinn.

Rachel took another deep breath before stepping backwards to create space between them (quickly glancing about the hallway to make sure a certain blonde was out of sight).

"Finn," she said softly, letting her hand rest on his arm. "I truly appreciate you looking out for my best interests, but…I trust Noah. In this case certainly, I believe his intentions are what he claims, and with Santana around I believe I will be all right in his company."

Finn opened his mouth, likely to argue about the prudence in keeping company with Santana, when a voice called from just behind them. "Finn!"

Rachel removed her hand instantly, but still a moment too late, as Quinn approached them. Her eyebrows raised as she let her gaze linger on where the brunette's hand had just been, before snuggling into her boyfriend's side, wrapping his arm around her. "What are we talking about?" she asked, a hostile tone thinly veiled as curiosity.

"Uh—" Finn stammered, eloquent as ever. Rachel knew the blonde would not be pleased at his interest in her Prom activities.

"Finn was soliciting my vote for Prom Royalty," she supplied quickly, watching as the goofy boy nodded fervently, though whether he understood what she'd even said was not apparent in his face. She continued, offering a smile to the other girl, "I assured him I would give you both due consideration."

Quinn's expression remained cynical, if not antagonistic, but said nothing to contradict the brunette. "How nice of you," she replied, a fake smile plastered on her face. She tugged Finn's arm, adding, "Come on Finn; we can still get in a couple minutes with the Cheerios before class." And together they disappeared down the hall.

Rachel watched them leave, watched his forlorn glance at her as he became lost in the crowd, and felt confused all over again.

* * *

><p>AN: So for those of you that display any concern- Finn isn't violent; he's just frustrated. I took some creative license based on his willingness to hit Puck and attempts to fight Karofsky.

A/N: to keep things consistent, Rachel still kind of loves Finn, but (unlike the show) she has some pride and recognizes the issues in their "friendship"

A/N: Also, Rachel doesn't yet know that she's being used to make Brittany jealous, but she does know that Santana loves Britt (as evident from "Sexy")

keep reviewing- i love to hear from you guys!


	5. It's On

Santana applied one last coat of mascara, then gave herself an appraising look in the floor-length mirror. Her dress was deep cerulean blue (no, she did _not_ choose the color because it reminded her of someone's eyes—she looks damn good in blue, that's all); strapless with a cinched top and rosette detailing to draw the perfect amount of attention to her girls. The rest of it flowed flawlessly down her body, and the material felt perfect as she sashayed in front of the mirror. She'd kept it simple: smoky makeup, hair pinned up delicately in what appeared to be haphazard curls, loose strands here and there framing her face, and a silver bracelet set with an amber jewel; all because she knew it was Britt's favorite look on her (it reminded her of the middle of the night during their sleepovers). And, of course, she looked fucking awesome.

She slipped into her silver heels, and exited the walk-in closet into the bathroom of Rachel Berry. She watched with a smirk as the brunette fussed with her curling iron. Her soft curls poured down her shoulders, framing her natural make-up and looking amazing with her dress: a soft, sequined blush that complimented her skin with a silver belt, set off by well-placed faux-diamond bracelets.

Santana wasn't stupid. She'd always known Berry was damn hot—behind those crazy animal sweaters was a sex kitten itching to break free. She'd seen it a few times since she'd joined Glee: that week of hairography when she'd broken out a corset for school; and another when she'd jumped on the Brittany Spears hallucination train for Homecoming. Rachel Berry had uber-potential for being a Grade A Hottie.

Which was exactly why, the instant the dark girl's boobs had started developing in eighth grade, the Latina had come down so hard on the diva. Quinn was already enough of a hot bitch, she didn't need any more competition—Santana Lopez hated competition.

But now she could put that aside. Now Rachel Berry was serving a purpose, and the ex-cheerleader needed her to be as drop-dead gorgeous as physically possible. She was already working with a handicap, having Puck there—she wanted Brittany to think that she was moving on, and a girl for a date would be the only way to convince her of that—but, when she realized neither of the Jew freaks would budge away from each other, she figured she'd use it to the best of her advantage.

Santana handed the midget her lipstick, to which the other girl gave her a surprised look, before smiling gratefully. She'd have to work on that—not that the Santana wasn't a total bitch, but she needed a non-terrified Berry with her for this to work.

She dropped down so their heads were next to each other, staring into the mirror. "We look so hot," Santana asserted, smiling at Rachel's reflection. "McKinley's never going to know what hit them." She squeezed the brunette's shoulders, relieved as she felt the girl relax at her touch. There was going to be a lot of that—she'd better get used to it now.

Just then the doorbell rang. "That will be Noah," the tiny girl spoke up, smiling a much more enthusiastic smile. She made her way down the stairs, and the Latina watched in amusement: when did she miss _that_ connection? She shrugged to herself; or maybe she really did make the midget _that_ uncomfortable.

"Noah, come in!" Santana could hear her voice perfectly as it resounded up the stairs. "I must say you look quite handsome this evening." A pause, and some mumbling in the low voice she knew as Puck's, and then, "Oh, Noah, thank you—it's beautiful."

The dark-haired beauty decided to make that her entrance. "Hey Puck," she called, watching his gaze shift up towards her, his eyes widening as he smirked in appreciation. She made her way elegantly down the steps (if there was anything Santana had mastered in her debutante days with Quinn, it was make an entrance via stairs), smiling as she finally reached the same level as them. "Not bad," she assessed, giving his traditional tux the once-over.

"Not so bad yourself," he replied, reaching to take a box from the table. "Got this for you," he muttered, handing it to her.

She looked at the flower inside—it was a white rose, just like she'd asked, with soft blue baby's breath dotted around it. She opened the box and reached in to touch it, stroking the petals and smiling to herself.

Santana turned to the mirror in the entry, reaching to remove the pin from the flower, when Rachel rearranged herself so they were side by side.

"Noah, really!" she admonished him, taking the flower from the taller girl and turning her so they were face to face. "You'd think he was raised by wolves," she muttered, fussing with the pin (though Santana noticed he hadn't forgotten to pin Berry's white rose with a pink Queen Anne's Lace accent just above her left breast).

The Latina watched in amazement as the brunette moved to attach the flower. She was actually kind of touched by the gesture (again, she'd kill herself before admitting it). Unfortunately, watching the girl's soft hands graze her skin as they gently affixed the flower to her dress, she couldn't help but feel the prick of moisture in her eyes as she wished with _every fiber of her being_ that a different set of hands, attached to a happy blonde with eyes that glittered in the dark, were placing her corsage.

"Damn it Berry, you stuck me," the girl bit, hiding the broken tone as she turned away to quickly wipe away the tear that threatened to escape. She inhaled sharply, trying to regain her composure. "Stings like a bitch," she continued muttered, scoffing at the hidden truth in her statement.

She turned back and listened to half of a long-winded apology from the tiny girl before putting a well-manicured finger to her lips and telling her to shut it. "Let's just go, okay?"

"Oh, but my fathers wanted just a few more pictures," Rachel countered, flying back upstairs before the other girl could argue.

"Pictures?" Puck asked, noting the aggravated look on the Latina's face.

"Just so when they come back they'll have a reference point for when I recount the evening up until we leave," Rachel called as she hurried back down with a digital camera in hand.

"B; we've already taken a million pictures," Santana whined, and if they hadn't, they were damn close: pictures of her arriving; pictures of them getting ready; pictures of them coming down the stairs she didn't _want_ to know how many times. She didn't even try to think about how many pictures the midget had taken before she'd arrived.

"Just a few more of all of us and then we can go, Santana—I promise," Rachel reassured her, and they began what the crazy diva called The Entry Scene.

Santana actually enjoyed this round, because it mostly revolved around Puck looking like an ass. Puck outside; Puck ringing the doorbell; Puck crossing the threshold; Puck looking up the stairs as if the girls were still there (Rachel was apparently going to edit the pictures so that it flipped back and forth between their previous pictures of them coming down the stairs and him looking up them). Then of course there were the obligatory pictures of Puck pretending to pin on Rachel's corsage again; Rachel and Puck; Puck pretending to pin on Santana's corsage (although this time Santana kept her cool—easy to do when you have a guy like Puck fucking around, trying to cop a feel while posing for a picture); Santana and Puck; Santana and Rachel with corsages; and of course Rachel setting up the tripod for shots of the three of them with the flutes of champagne her fathers had left with strict instructions to drink responsibly (ie, Rachel passed out one flute to each of them and Santana snuck some into her fun flask, which was kept hidden in her clutch).

Finally, when she was positive she might smash the camera into the wall and possibly kill her date before they'd even left her house, Rachel declared she was finished and they better leave if they were going to make their reservations at Breadstix.

As they walked out the door, Santana breathed a sigh of relief: she'd survived probably the worst part of being with Berry on Prom, and they were going to her favorite place in the fucking world, where she could eat as many bread sticks as she wanted. And then she saw the driveway.

"No," she all but screamed. "No way in hell am I sitting my dolled-up ass in your crap-ass truck Puck!"

* * *

><p>AN: I know most prom corsages are wrist ones, but I hated them. I got one pinned corsage at my Junior Prom, and I decided it was the best thing ever, so the girls got one too.

A/N: I based the dresses the girls are wearing on dresses they've worn on the red carpet- Santana's is a blue version of Naya's Douglas Hannant gown for the Golden Globes, and Rachel's is (a slightly less plunging necklined version of) Lea's Oscar de la Renta gown from the 2011 SAG awards.

please review- it makes me all happy inside!


	6. Two Hot To Handle

Puck had known that this was going to be a weird night from the minute he'd suggested it. So he put up with Berry's crazy picture production (just because he knew her dads, and it really would've been a _lot_ worse if they'd actually been there).

He put up with Santana screaming at him about not getting a limo and how she wouldn't be caught dead riding his beat-up, good-for-nothing, god-forsaken, POS truck to Prom. When he'd told her he didn't have the cash for a fuckin' limo, she'd muttered about him being a fucking sleazoid and a slew of Spanish he was willing to wager was her cursing out him and his ride.

And he'd put up with the awkward ride to Breadstix. He realized within five seconds of Rachel telling Santana that Puck was also going to be their date that Santana wanted Rachel specifically, and that, while she _tolerated_ him (he was, after all, a sex god—and a good friend, whether she'd admit it or not), he was not what she wanted. So the whole ride to the restaurant was Puck's right arm around Berry's shoulders and Santana's left around her waist (her fingers dancing along the brunette's skin). It was hot as all hell, but as the undesired party, a little confusing to say the least.

Berry, for her part, didn't say much, which was probably a first. The mowhawked boy and the tanned girl let their familiar banter once again take the forefront, and Berry sat between them, likely wondering how the hell she'd gotten roped into all of this.

Eventually, however, they reached the parking lot of Breadstix, and Santana started flipping out again—there were three limos parked in the lot, and a bunch of really nice cars.

"_¡¿Qué chingados? _Puck, we cannot park your shitty-ass truck in this lot!" she screamed as he made the turn.

"Well, Satan, what the fuck do you suggest then?" he yelled back—it actually kind of hurt his ears, since the cab was cramped with the three of them. "'Cause I'm not going to magically pull a fucking limo out of my god damn ass!"

"Call a taxi; a town car; something _pinche puto!_" she snapped at him. "Because I'm not going to make my Prom entrance in this _camión de mierdo_!"

He put the car in park, and they fought like that for a good minute: her insisting they needed a nicer car and insulting him in Spanish; him reminding her unless _her_ sorry ass was going to pay for it, there wasn't enough money for a nicer car, and they were already here anyways so they might as well just go in before they missed their table.

Apparently, they went on a minute too long, because Berry finally decided to open her mouth.

"That's quite enough from both of you!" she shouted, interrupting the Spanglish screaming match. She took the Latina's hand and met her dark eyes.

"Santana," she told her gently. "Noah's right: it's too late now to rent a limo, and we're already here, so getting a taxi would be wasteful. You look phenomenal, so no one is going to notice whether you came off a private jet or a mule cart." The dark-haired girl pouted at the first sentence, then straightened and smirked at the second. She gave the midget's hand a squeeze and rolled her eyes, only pouting slightly as she muttered a reluctant agreement.

Then the brunette turned to him. "Noah, your vehicle is a mess," she reprimanded, and while Puck opened his mouth to argue, he kinda knew he couldn't—he'd really only taken the time to sweep all of the fast food wrappers and various shit into a garbage bag before driving out to pick them up: Rachel'd actually gone back into her house to get some FeBreeze before she'd let them leave. "You could have at least taken it through a car wash, if not gotten it thoroughly cleaned by professionals," she insisted. When Puck rolled his eyes, she continued, "So, to compromise, you're going to drop myself and Santana at the front of the restaurant and park down the street; then come and meet us here." His mouth fell open as he saw she was completely serious. "We'll inform the maitre d' of our arrival and wait for you," she finished, and sat back in her seat.

Puck hadn't moved from his wide-eyed, slack-jawed position, and it wasn't until god damned Satan's smirking face cleared her throat pointedly as she sat prim and proper as Berry herself that he finally put the truck in drive, muttering curse words about "fucking high maintenance women" under his breath the whole way to the entrance. He watched Santana reach for the door, then paused in disbelief as the fucking midget grabbed her hand to stop it's movement, looking back at Puck pointedly.

Cursing a little louder, the mowhawked boy slid the truck into park, threw open his door, and not just a little crossly strode over to the passenger side, where he yanked open the door and extended his hand to his dates.

Damn Latina was eating it up, fucking canary-eating grin on her face as she delicately placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her out of the truck. Berry was at least a little more gracious, smiling and offering a "thank you Noah" as she too slid to the ground. She let go of his hand instantly though as her other arm was grabbed up by the ex-Cheerio, who waved mockingly as they watched him slam the door shut and stomp back to the driver's seat, forcing the car into drive, and heading off to park in the first spot he found outside the lot about a block away.

* * *

><p>So that had sucked. But he figured the worst of it had to be over when a pleasant Berry and better-behaved Santana (B must've said a few words about being civil or some shit) had met him with a smile and, the crazy midget once again sandwiched between them, they were escorted to their booth.<p>

Santana demanded a basket of bread sticks before they'd even sat down, and as the brunette (apparently having regained her confidence in the parking lot) sat next to her, she began filling the space with talk of Red Carpet events with similar dresses and Broadway stars that had spoken in interviews of their own Prom experience (or lack thereof; a lot of them apparently missed that part of high school).

Puck for the most part didn't say much. Sometimes he'd ask a question—just because some of the accounts were notable enough to warrant follow up: for instance, one guy used as a pick-up line, "Polar Bear," and when his date-to-be had said "What?", he'd replied, "Well, it's enough to break the ice"—that was actually pretty smooth. But mostly he liked to just listen to her talk; Berry was always happy when she talked. Her eyes lit up like she couldn't believe that _you_ were paying attention to _her_. And he could tell she'd made an effort to keep him interested—when she'd go off on tangents about Broadway, she seemed to purposely steer toward things he actually thought were kind of cool. Like when she commented on the tackiness of one girl's dress (Puck had to admit, cheetah print was gross, though he didn't mind being able to watch her boobs practically pop out every time she moved), she likened it to _Lil' Shop of Horrors_, which was apparently about a florist that dressed like a hooker and a dweeb who accidentally grew a giant alien Venus-fly trap that ate people and took over the world—he might not mind seeing that.

At one point in the night, though, he knew something had changed, because suddenly San stopped paying as much attention to her meal and started letting her hands roam all over the brunette. The midget looked perplexed for a moment, but after a quick glance around the room, actually slid a little closer to the Latina and entwined one of the darker hands in both of her own as she smiled coyly.

Puck was a stud, but god damn if he wasn't also just a seventeen year-old guy. First off, San and Berry, both way beyond their usual brand of hotness, were sitting _thisclose_ to each other, practically fused together (though sadly, without the making out); second, coy Berry, biting her lip in a shy tease, had to be the sexiest thing he'd ever fucking seen—_ever_. As he felt his pants tightening, he quickly excused himself and went to the bathroom to take a breather.

* * *

><p>If he wasn't in the fucking bathroom of a fucking restaurant populated by two-thirds of his god damn class, he would have considered rubbing one out—god knows that he had enough of an imagination that the visuals just provided could max out his spank bank for years. But instead he concentrated on deep breaths, dead kittens, and Sue Sylvester giving him "come hither" eyes.<p>

Which turned out to be a good thing, since not two seconds after he'd gotten it under control and started to piss, fucking Golden Boy walked through the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

Puck ignored the tone, shrugging his shoulders and staring straight forward. "Taking a piss," he replied calmly, determined not to take the bait that Hudson was waving in front of him like a cougar with an empty house full of condoms.

"I meant about Rachel and Santana?" the gawky teen insisted. "They're practically making out out there." Puck, having zipped up his pants and made his way to the sink already, had to suppress a groan—he wasn't sure how much more he could take of the two of them like that. "I swear Puck, if you slipped her something—"

That brought him down fast. The hazel eyes turned fierce as Puck shut off the sink and whirled to face him. "Are you seriously accusing me of drugging them?" he spat the words as the very thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Wouldn't be the first time you've done whatever it takes to get into a girl's pants," Finn retorted, stepping a little closer into the other boy's space.

Puck brought himself up to full height, which, while not as tall as Frankenteen, was much better put together. "Look man," he growled. "Your girlfriend knew exactly what she was getting into last year—I didn't trick her or force her to do jack shit. And it's done with, so get over it." He paused as he watched Finn's angry face contain its body from acting on its desire to punch his "friend".

"As for Berry and San," he continued. "Whatever the hell they're doing is for their own benefit: I'm just enjoying the ride."

"Rachel would never act like that," Hudson insisted. "She's not like that."

"Then maybe you don't know her as well as you think."

Finn shook his head back and forth, as if trying to shake the bad thoughts that had infiltrated his perfect world from his brain. "This is all _your_ fault—you're supposed to be my friend. You said you'd back off. _You promised_."

Puck was done with this; he was damn tired of Finn Hudson getting everything handed to him on a fucking platter. "I'm going to say this once, Hudson. You can't have them both, you gotta choose one: the cheerleader or the diva. 'Cause right now, you're stringing them both along and to be honest? It's just pissing me off."

"You never had a problem doing it," Finn sneered.

"When did I ever pretend to be anything but what I was? When I was with a chick, I was straight up about what we were; and when I was dating someone, I was _loyal_, damn it. You didn't see me making god damn lost dog eyes at my ex while I was fused with another chick. It's fucking pathetic, and someday they're both going to see it, and you're going to end up with neither of 'em."

"So you're just going to use Rachel since I'm not with her?" the quarterback asked. "Fucking take advantage of her like you always do with your stupid sluts?"

Puck growled, almost losing his temper as he grabbed the other boy and slammed him into the wall. "I'm going to forgive you for that because you're my bro," he hissed. "But you insult me, her, or Santana again," (he felt proud in the back of his mind for sticking up for his other date, even though Finn seemed to have no interest in protecting _her_) "and I'll pound your ass into the asphalt."

The two boys stood in silence, nose-to-nose, glaring for a moment.

Just then the door swung open, letting loose a gale of whirlwind chatter from the outside as a dark-haired boy Puck barely recognized from the jazz band (what'd he play—trumpet or something?) walked in to the obviously tense room. He stood frozen for a moment, realizing he'd interrupted something and taking a tentative step back towards the safety of the restaurant.

Just then Finn pushed Puck off, throwing him back into the stall doors. "You're not my fucking bro," he bit as he stormed out of the room in a way that would have left his ex-girlfriend looking subtle.

Puck took a deep breath, nodded at the poor kid who still stood shell-shocked at the scene that had passed, and walked back to his table.

* * *

><p>Spanish translations:<p>

_Qué chingados_ - What the fuck

_pinche puto_ - fucking (male) whore

_camión de mierdo_ - piece of shit truck

A/N: The pick-up line actually came from Chord Overstreet in Teen Vogue, but I really really liked it.

reviews make the world a better place!


	7. White Horse

Rachel found herself once again escorted from Noah's truck with Noah on her left and Santana on her right. She surmised they both were nervous, as the closer they came to the doors leading toward the ballroom, the tighter their grip on her hands became.

She wanted to be supportive; really she did. However, she wasn't quite sure how to accomplish such a thing without posing problems with one or the other: Noah obviously wanted to impress their peers with two attractive girls, so it would have made the most sense for Santana to walk on one arm and herself to take the other. However, the Latina wanted to have just Rachel around, apparently (if the episode at Breadstix was any indication) as both a means of making Brittany jealous and as moral support; which would have been best achieved without the mowhawked boy's presence. Therefore, the tiny brunette found herself caught in the compromise of simply allowing them to constantly sandwich her, gripping her tightly as both attempted to lay claim.

Her first pleasant surprise of the night (that didn't involve getting through the evening without things going horribly horribly wrong) came when they walked through the doors and heard a set of familiar voices singing the last chords of Plain White T's _Rhythm of Love._ She looked up and realized it was none other than…the Warblers! Rachel had barely made it through the front door when she was accosted by Kurt, Mercedes, and Tina's embrace as they excitedly squealed over the appearance of their former rivals. Rachel happily greeted Mike, Sam (escorting Mercedes for the night), and Blaine (apparently excused from his vocal obligations in order to attend the dance with Kurt) as they approached the three newcomers. Of course instantly the girls (and Kurt) started fawning over each other, and by the side conversation the boys were having, it was not the first time that night.

Santana was quickly bored after the girls finished complimenting her, and dragged both Rachel and Noah to a table before dropping the boy's hand and stating, "_We're_ going to dance."

The Latina dragged out the diva and they started a sultry give-and-take as the Dalton boys started up Ke$ha's _We R Who We R_, and it wasn't long before the rest of the girls (and Kurt) were out on the floor with them.

The boys came up behind them, and though Rachel could feel Noah's breath on her neck and his fingers grazing up her sides (which she didn't deny caused her to shiver just a little), she felt a wave of happiness course through her as she watched Santana jumping around with all of them, her hand firmly in the brunettes, singing along with a genuine smile as she lost herself in the music.

The next hour and a half was quite a balancing act. She made an effort to dance with Noah consistently (he was her date after all), and the girls (including Quinn, who showed up twenty minutes after the rest) all rotated through the boys (although Kurt was quick to steal back Blaine any time any song slower than 90 beats per minute began to play). However Santana was very possessive, and always stole back Rachel before she'd been away more than three songs, as well as keeping her close for all group dances.

It was about eleven o'clock, just before the announcement of King and Queen, when things began to fall apart.

Noah had excused himself to get a drink (there was an open non-alcoholic bar just beyond the dance floor), leaving Santana and Rachel to themselves just as the Warblers started up a new number.

_There she goes_

_ There she goes again_

_ Racing through my brain_

_ And I just can't contain_

_ This feeling that remains…_

The brunette recognized the song as a cover of the La's, and she and her dark-haired partner slowed to a sway as the Warblers continued to sing.

It was then she realized that the Latina had begun to grip her harder, and her breathing had become slightly unbalanced. Rachel attempted to pull away in order to get a better look at the girl, but she found Santana had a firm grip on her, her fingers grasping her skin tightly.

_There she blows_

_ There she blows again_

_ Pulsing through my veins_

_ And I just can't contain_

_ This feeling that remains…_

The smaller girl tried to squeeze the other's arm, tried to comfort her in any way possible given her limited mobility, but just as soon as it had begun, Santana instantly released the diva, flitting away toward the bathrooms, ducking her head in a desperate attempt to hide the tears forming behind her eyes.

Rachel whirled to where her date had been facing, and sure enough was Brittany, still standing frozen on the edge of the dance floor, not even noticing Artie as he wheeled towards her with a Shirley Temple in hand.

_There she goes, there she goes again  
>She calls my name, <em>

_Pulls my train  
>No one else could heal my pain<em>

"Is she okay?" Kurt slipped behind the brunette, snapping her out of the staring contest with the blonde. When the petite girl shook her head slightly, Kurt's gaze followed her to the floor. "Poor thing," he muttered, taking her hand as they rocked back and forth not really in time. "I wondered when something like this might happen."

"I couldn't conceive where to even begin to help her," Rachel told him softly. "I sort of understand, but not enough, I suppose." She looked up at Brittany, now dancing with Artie (though her gaze kept shifting toward the bathrooms) and sighed.

Kurt followed her eyes, pausing before suggesting, "I'm not an expert or anything, but perhaps I could offer a few words in such a situation?"

Rachel's eyes met his, and she could feel the sparkle as she smiled in gratitude. She hugged him tightly, whispering her thanks and watching him wander toward the girl's room.

_There she goes (there she goes again)_

_ There she goes (there she goes again)_

_ There she goes (there she goes again)…_

"Can I cut in?" a deep voice murmured, and Rachel smiled as she felt Noah's strong hands encase her own. She nodded, and they transitioned into a slower, closer rhythm as David, Wes, Jeff, and Nick came together to sing "I Swear"

"Kind of lame playlist," he murmured in her ear.

"Noah," she chided softly. "It's Prom, not a competition. The point is to enjoy the sentiment."

"Fine," he agreed, pulling her closer into his chest. She always loved the feeling of his arms around her, and his chest was solid; it made her feel safe.

They rocked back and forth for most of the song in silence, his head resting lightly on top of hers as she buried her face in his chest.

She felt something catch the mowhawked boy's eye as his head tilted up and away from hers. "Is San going to be okay?" he asked softly.

"I hope so," Rachel replied. She didn't feel it was her place to divulge the details of Santana's personal life, and so they fell back into silence.

As the song came to an end, she looked up to meet his eyes. "Thank you," she told him sincerely.

"What kind of date would I be if I didn't dance one slow song with you tonight?" he replied, shrugging.

She shook her head. "No, I mean, thank you for asking me," she clarified. "I know that you were just looking for a replacement for Lauren, but it means a lot that you thought I was worth second choice, and that you've been relatively compassionate about Santana."

"You know Rache," he told her, his lips curling up into a half smile. "I'm kind of glad Zizes broke up with me. It's been fun here with you, even if San's been hogging you all night. In fact, you know—"

"Rachel!" A whirl of blonde and Quinn was standing beside them. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Noah snorted. "We're in the middle of the fucking dance floor, Q—how hard did you look?"

Quinn arched her eyebrows. "I guess I expected you to be-_ahem_- _dancing_ elsewhere," she said pointedly, causing Rachel's face to fall into a puzzled expression. The blonde smirked, continuing as she grabbed the brunette's hand "Anyways, it's almost time for the announcement and you're up for the first dance." And with that she pulled her away.

Rachel had completely forgotten that she'd convinced Mr. Schue that one of the New Directions should sing for the winning King and Queen's first dance. She hadn't personally vied for the part, but she was pleased to accept the honor of duetting with Thad when it was offered. Now she was dreading it, because by the malicious smile on the blonde's face, she had a terrible feeling she already knew who had won.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Figgins called out haltingly into the microphone, attempting to quiet down the masses.

"Oh and by the way," Quinn whispered gleefully. "Puck's been bragging all week about the room he has rented upstairs. It's been circling about you and Santana and him the whole night. Congrats on making rebound to the Queen Teen Cellulite."

"Your king and queen, Finn Hudson and Quinn Fabray!"

Quinn's face instantly flipped into a surprised ecstasy as she walked onto the stage opposite Finn in order to accept their crowns. Her perfectly manicured fingers dabbed lightly at her eyes to wipe away any tears, and then pressed against her lips, her bouquet, her crown, as she expressed her appreciation and thanks to the entire student body over and over again.

"And now, to perform a duet with the Dalton Academy Warblers for the King and Queen's first dance together as royalty, Glee Club's Co-Captain, Ms. Rachel Berry!" Figgins continued, and Rachel took a deep breath as she strode onto the stage.

She knew Quinn was trying to hurt her; to break her. She'd dealt an impeccable blow too—the double whammy of linking herself to Finn via class vote and declaring Noah's true intentions right before a performance would have destroyed any normal girl. But Rachel Barbara Berry was not any normal girl.

She listened as a slow intro played to a Rolling Stones song. She saw the spotlight come down on the perfect couple, and she began to sing.

_Childhood living is easy to do_

_The things you wanted, I bought them for you_

As she took a breath for the next verse, she heard footsteps join her center stage, and watched gaping as not Thad, but Noah moved towards her and began to sing.

_Graceless lady, you know who I am_

_ You know I can't let you slide through my hands_

_Wild horses, couldn't drag me away_

_ Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away_

He walked out to her, taking her hand, and Rachel watched his hazel eyes as they reflected an honest belief in what he was saying. She continued their duet

_ Oh, oh_

_ Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah_

_ I watched you suffer a dull aching pain_

_ Now you decided to show me the same_

Noah never took his eyes off of her, and Rachel wondered how she'd never noticed how good he'd been to her. Not just the plans he'd helped her with (however ill-conceived), but how he'd walked with her proudly when they'd dated, how he'd stuck up for her when the team was against her, how he'd maybe never said it, but that he appreciated her in a way that she wondered if anyone else did. After all, here he was, in what he had to know was one of her hardest moments, singing next to her whether she needed him or not.

_No sweeping exits or offstage lines_

_ Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind_

She belted out the chorus then, wondering if her eyes held the same glitter when they performed that the boy's next to her seemed to—how did she never notice that?

_Baby wild horses couldn't drag me away_

_ Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away_

_ Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah_

As he entered into the final verse, he smiled softly at her, and she couldn't help but return the gesture, taking his hand.

_I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie, oh_

_ I have my freedom, but I don't have much time_

She listened closely to his words (or the Stones, she guessed), and she wondered if it would be so bad. She knew she'd promised herself that she'd wait until she was 25, and that it would be romantic and special, but sleeping with Noah on Prom night didn't seem like an awful proposition. He seemed to genuinely care for her (to the extent that anyone seemed to be able to); and Prom was a special time; and a hotel room seemed kind of romantic. She'd have to be certain he'd brought protection, obviously—just because she was veering slightly off course didn't mean she was willing to throw away the map.

_Faith has been broken, tears have been cried_

_ Let's do some living before we die_

Rachel, staring into his eyes at that moment, decided that Noah Puckerman _was_ special, and maybe that was enough. She gripped his hand and let him twirl her into his chest as they harmonized the final chorus.

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away_

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away_

_Wild horses, we will ride them someday_

_Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…_

They broke apart, eyes still locked, barely hearing the scattered applause and not even noticing the Golden Couple taking a bow just below them.

* * *

><p>AN: The thing that Puck didn't see, and the incident that Rachel refers to regarding Santana, will be addressed in the next chapter- I promise. Be patient.

A/N: Songs performed include The La's _There She Goes_, and Alicia Keyes and Adam Levine's cover of the Rolling Stone's _Wild Horses_


	8. All For You

A/N: Okay, this is going to seem super OOC for Rachel, but my logic is that Rachel is an actress, and completely understands wanting someone she can't have- therefore the instant she decides she's on Santana's side (and she figured out the point of Santana asking her) she's willing to go all-out to help a friend. And if you think a hetero girl can't fawn all over a girl friend as if they're actually into each other...well, you've obviously never been a band geek.

* * *

><p>Santana stared miserably into a softly lit mirror as her hands braced themselves against bright white marble. If she'd been thinking about it, she would've considered this the nicest public bathroom she'd probably ever set foot in. But that wasn't what she was thinking about.<p>

_When their food arrived, Santana finally let go of Berry's hand and started tucking in. This place had a spinach alfredo that was close to orgasmic. She half-listened as Berry talked about Red Carpet dresses and musicals with a sick twist (really—a pair of talking bears that tell puppets to get wasted and have sex on stage? she would totally watch that), and Puck actually pay attention (she wondered if Super Size didn't install some behavior modification chip in him or something). It was pretty awesome._

_ And then she came walking in. Even pushing Rollerboy through the doors, Brittany was still a vision in a gold column dress, soft curls, and cherry red lips that made her look like she'd fucking popped straight out of an old school glamour shot. With the exception of the stupid Delphinium corsage wrapped around her wrist, she looked phenomenal. Her baby blues (matching so perfectly with the baby's breath pinned next to Santana's heart) gazed over the room as Artie spoke to the maitre d', and their eyes locked. _

_ For a moment, it was just the two of them. Santana felt like one of the characters from the cheesy romance movies: their eyes met for an infinite moment, and then—_

_ Brittany broke the link as she turned back to Wheels, smiling as she pushed him toward their table. Santana wondered how many times she could watch this before her heart literally broke._

_ She dropped her fork and made a mad grab for Berry's hand. Not just her hand, but also burying her face ever so slightly into the long chocolate tendrils of her date. She breathed in deeply Berry's vanilla-lilac scent, trying to keep herself together._

_ The Latina felt the tiny girl's head move ever so slightly, and knew she'd found the reason behind her behavior change. Much to her surprise, however, Berry actually snaked her free hand up the darker girl's arm, tracing her way up her neck and cupping her jaw as she smiled shyly, lightly kissing her cheek._

_ They moved closer together, and Santana realized that Rachel Berry was actually the perfect second choice for tonight. If anyone in this whole damned room could understand heartbreak and jealousy, it was the crazy midget sitting next to her, fingers weaving around the tiny raven hairs at the back of her neck. _

_ She turned so her body was facing the tiny girl's , more importantly away from her blonde a couple tables away, and had never been so thankful that someone had seen right through her outer bitch._

_ She heard Puck groan quietly, and couldn't help but smirk slightly, despite her emotional turmoil. She couldn't see what he did, but she knew she and Berry were damn hot, and this position was practically soft-core porn. When Puck muttered an excuse to leave the table, the Latina waited until she couldn't hear his footsteps anymore and then burst into quiet giggles. She realized, after a moment, that the brunette had done the same._

_ "This can't look appropriate," the tiny diva murmured in her ear. "But I suppose that is the point?"_

_ San smiled, laughing again at her brilliant stroke of luck. She must've caught the break of the century to have a date that was so willing to play the part of the rebound—especially when she pegged Berry as a total prude. Her French-tipped nails trailed down the small girl's back, figuring she might as well make the most of the moment._

_ Santana scoffed lightly as she looked around the other side of the room, nudging the diva's shoulder. "Hudson's totally gaping, and he totally looks like he's going to cum in his tux," she whispered, laughing._

_ She heard the brunette's sharp intake of breath, felt her tense. "Relax B; I'm sure he's enjoying the show," the Latina reassured her, fingers grazing the other's shoulders._

_ Rachel didn't ease up. "Is Quinn with him?" she murmured, not looking up._

_ Santana glanced over again—Finn looked fucking constipated with frustration, but that was nothing compared to his date. "Hell yes; Ice Queen looks like she might kill him—or us," she laughed again. God this night was looking up. "Totally priceless B—we should start making out."_

_ Just as Rachel began to assure her ardently that, while she was fine with acting close, there would be no making out and _definitively_ no intimate actions beyond that (apparently she'd been thinking about this a lot), two things happened: Santana's entertainment ended when Finn got up to use the bathroom (likely to rub one out, she smirked); and Tiny Tim and Brittany walked up to their table._

_ "Uh…hey guys," the boy stated awkwardly, and Santana felt Berry gently pull away from her, though still weaving their fingers together, lightly tracing each others. "I didn't know you two were together…i mean, _here_, together."_

_ "Santana and I realized that we had more in common that we'd previously assumed, and decided to put aside our differences and—" Berry started talking Artie's ear off about friendship and building rapport with teammates and god knew what else. _

_ "So you guys are dating?" Brittany questioned softly, and Santana saw the hurt reflecting in her eyes. She wanted so badly to make that hurt disappear; but she was that hurt, and this had been her plan, hadn't it?_

_ "She's my date," Santana clarified vaguely, wondering if Britt could tell the difference. It was supposed to be ambiguous, but Brittany barely got things that were straight-forward, so it could have been completely lost on her._

_ "So you're here, on a date?" the blonde asked, to which the Latina merely nodded in assent. "You never took _me_ here on a date," she murmured._

_ San felt those stupid tears pricking from behind her eyes. "I _wanted_ to take you here, on a date," she insisted, her gaze falling and glaring at the stupid blue flowers on her pale wrist. "But you said you'd rather be with Wheels, remember?" she looked back up, probing the blue orbs for some solace._

_ "It's not fair, Sanny," she whispered sadly._

_ "You're right—it's not," the other replied, voice slightly ragged. _

_ "And Brittany, you do look quite lovely," Rachel's voice suddenly thrust its way back to the forefront of the group. San realized she'd been talking to Artie the whole time, and had never been so grateful that the girl was a walking dictionary. "The very image of 1920's high fashion." She smiled widely. "I do hope you both enjoy your evening."_

_ They said their goodbyes and the blonde wheeled her date back to their table. Berry turned back to the ex-Cheerio. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly._

_ "Whatever," she replied harshly. She was grateful for what the midget had done—if there was anything Berry could do, it was create a long-winded distraction in polite company—but she felt emotionally drained from that eight-sentence conversation. "Can we go? I just want to get the hell out of here."_

_ The brunette signaled their server, asking for boxes for what was left and the check. When Noah (finally) returned from the bathroom, slightly aggravated, the Latina said nothing while Berry explained they wished to leave. _

_ Santana didn't miss the sad glance Brittany gave her on their way out._

She'd put it out of her mind as best she could—Berry was actually pretty good for that. There was no way in hell she'd put out, so Santana allowed herself to just enjoy the midget's supportive embrace, never letting her out of her sight for long.

The music was always a good distraction—not to look at, really, because in their blazers and ties the Warblers looked like douchey choir boys. But their vocals were off the hook, and they had an awesome balance of pop and rock and fast and slow. It'd been almost perfect.

Then _she'd_ walked through the door. Late. It was almost eleven, for Christ's sake: what had they been doing? The problem was, San could easily guess _exactly_ what they'd been doing.

They'd just talked—literally, maybe two hours ago, about how much they missed each other. Had she forgotten that quickly? Did everything the Latina'd said to her mean nothing? She gripped the midget harder, and the Warbler's voice pierced through her psyche.

_There she blows_

_ There she blows again_

_ Pulsing through my veins_

_ And I just can't contain_

_ This feeling that remains…_

She couldn't stand it anymore: she could barely breathe, and the tears were about ready to spill over. McKinley's top bitch pushed away the brunette and flew to the bathrooms. Which, after shooting a scathing look at some random girl, was where she stood: alone in front of a mirror.

She didn't look up when the door opened hesitantly; didn't move when a pair of what she guessed were top end shoes glided towards her, and an effeminate hand placed itself on her bare shoulder.

"So how long has this drama been spiraling?" Kurt asked her, and she chuckled, breathing deeply as she turned away from her reflection.

"I don't know," she sighed. "Maybe two months now?" she groaned. "Damn Brit wanted to talk about feelings—next thing I know I've become this sappy feelings person and she tells me she loves me but she's dating fucking McCripplePants. How does that even make any _sense_?"

"To quote Leann Rimes, 'nothin' 'bout love makes sense'," the boy replied.

"Is that supposed to help in some way Beyonce?" the Latina bit out.

"I suppose not," Kurt answered. "But everything you're feeling—you're not alone, you know? I spent weeks in love with Blaine before I even told him, and it was weeks after that before he actually kissed me. And Rachel's been head over heels for Finn since she met him, and he's been jerking her around since about the same time. Not that it seems to matter now, considering how those crazy Puckleberries are looking at each other…"

"I knew it wasn't just me," Santana smirked in spite of her crappy feeling. "So what though?" she huffed, leaning backward over the countertop. "Britt told me she loved me; told me she missed me; she's jealous about me being here with Berry; and she _still_ won't leave Wheels. It's just so fucking _frustrating_."

"Tell me about it," the perfectly coiffed boy told her. "But for now let's just try to leave the drama behind for the night. You look—well, almost perfect," he stated, whipping out a tissue to dab away some of her smudged make-up and licking his fingers to replace her curls. "There. Now, for Pete's sake, go out there and prove that you are in fact Santana Lopez, and they ain't got nothing on you."

Santana turned to look back in the mirror, taking a deep breath. She smiled, and punched Kurt softly in the shoulder. "Thanks Lady-hands." She didn't even protest when he reached over and hug her.

They walked back out together and Kurt, giving her one more assessing look, walked off to find Blaine. Berry and Puck were fused together for a nineties slow song, so she made her way to the open (non-alcoholic) bar.

She took a seat and ordered a Shirley Temple, and orange juice, and a virgin Simple Bellini, then made her way to their table and, sneaking out her fun flask, created a Shirley Temple Royale, a mimosa, and a non-virgin Simple Bellini. She began sipping her drinks, smiling as Seal's _Kiss From A Rose_ started up.

And then there was Brittany again, standing next to her seat and looking down at her.

The Latina groaned, purposely avoiding her (beautiful, amazing) eyes. "Britt, I don't think I can do this anymore tonight."

The blonde slid the chair over in front of her, taking the darker girl's hands in her own and forcing her eyes upon her. "I told Artie I loved him," she said.

Santana rolled her eyes and sighed, frustration building up in her all over again, when the girl continued. "But my heart hurts too much not being with you," she finished, squeezing her hand.

The dark-haired beauty's eyes went wide in shock at the statement. "I know feelings aren't easy," Brittany continued. "I spent all of tonight talking to Artie about them. And I know you're scared of people. But you love me, and I love you—and that should be enough, right?"

Santana still couldn't speak—it was like they'd just entered into a Bizarro hallucination where everything worked out just like it should instead of like reality.

"Sanny?" the blonde shook her a little, trying to gauge her reaction. "Sanny, say something."

The Latina smiled, loosening her hand from the others until only their pinkies remained, locked together as they'd been since grade school. "You look really beautiful tonight Britt," she told her softly, smiling wider as the girl's blue eyes danced in place.

"Let's get out of here," Brittany told her, and Santana nodded. While Brittany went to get her purse, the darker girl walked over to where Puck now stood alone.

"Hey S," he smirked, as she turned him to face her. "You and Britt make up? Looking for a little three-way ac—hey!" he protested as she shoved her hand into his jacket's inner pocket and stole the contents. "What the hell?"

"I'm taking this," she informed him, holding up his card key. She wasn't stupid—she'd known the instant Puck insisted he couldn't afford a limo that he'd already fronted the money for a room (the dance was in a hotel, for god's sake); she just didn't want to think about him getting all up in Queen Sea Cow's rolls—yech.

When he opened his mouth to protest, she preempted him. "Puck, you're here with Rachel Berry. And she's not giving it up tonight—you want in those schoolgirl skirts, you're going to have to do it the old fashioned way, and that's not going to happen tonight. I, on the other hand," she continued, twirling the key card in her hand. "I need romance, and special, and _now_. We'll get our own ride home. So—room number?"

He muttered some digits, and she began walking away, turning to call back to him, "And Puck—man up and make a move already. Fucking pussy."

When Brittany came back, she and Santana made their way to the elevators, pinkies locked, just as the last strains of the Warbler's song reached them.

_Now that your rose is in bloom,  
>A light hits the gloom on the gray<em>

Right before the elevators opened, the Latina pulled her lover into a passionate kiss right there in the lobby.

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><p>AN: Brittany's dress is the same one Heather wore for the 2010 Emmy's.

A/N: I know that wrapped up all in one chapter, but I love a Brittana ending, and technically it lasted all night; it was just explained all in one chapter. But this isn't the last Santana chapter, I promise!

reviews are our friend!


	9. What We Should Be

A/N: thanks everyone for all of the alerts and favoriting! sorry i've been so late in updating- semester's wrapping up and i'm getting a little distracted. but i finished this bit, and the last chapter is about a third done, so i promise i'll get it up as soon as i can. happy reading!

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><p>So Puck had watched San run off into the sunset with her blonde better half (<em>his<em> sunset, god damn it; girl was nuts if she thought she wasn't paying him back for that fucking room). And then he realized that Quinn was going to win, and Berry was going to be devastated, and that the last thing he wanted was to see that little piece of crazy saddened over something as stupid as the fucking Inns.

So he made his way up to the stage. And as Quinn started droning on about her victory, he walked over to the Dalton pretty boy with the microphone in his hand.

He'd tapped his shoulder, turning the kid to face him. "Dude, I've got this," he stated, holding his hand out.

The over-gelled brunette (seriously—did the Warblers have American Crew as a sponsor or something that they all needed so much damn shit in their hair?) gawked at him in surprise, suddenly clutching the mike. "Excuse me? Who are you?" he asked in a ridiculously pompous ass-hat voice.

The mowhawked badass took another step into the guy's space, this time reaching and gripping the handle. "I'm the guy who's got this," he told him a little more forcefully.

The kid's brown eyes widened, eyes twitching toward the stage in what Puck assumed was an internal debate of how badly he wanted this duet. He finally nodded. "Suit yourself," he replied, releasing his grip on the equipment and smirking. "Careful though; she's a little crazy."

Puck smirked himself—he knew Berry was bat-shit; it was kind of one of the things he dug about her.

Then his entrance had come and he'd gone out there. He had no idea who'd chosen this song, but he thought it actually made a pretty awesome duet with the midget. Especially the way she could barely stop looking at him.

_Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away_

He sang out the chorus, and he realized that she wasn't the only one that couldn't stop looking. He saw Finn out of the corner of his eye, once again with that look on his face, like he knew he was losing something- something that Puck believed never should have been his in the first place.

When he took her hand, felt her squeeze his, he wondered how it'd taken fucking Santana to point out just how fucking amazing the midget in front of him was. If she didn't worship the god damn ground Hudson walked on, he thought she just might be perfect—hell, she might be perfect anyways. He wondered if this was what Keith Richards or his fellow Jew Adam Levine had been singing about: a girl that was bat-shit but beautiful and brilliant, and couldn't help but hurt them, but that they couldn't walk away from all the same.

_No sweeping exits or offstage lines_

_Could make me bitter or treat you unkind_

He saw a slight change in her eyes, and wondered what was running through that infinite mind of hers—the one that always saw potential in his, that saw him in so many ways others never bothered.

_So let's do some living before we die_

When she belted out the last line of her verse, he could feel the statement in her song, and all thoughts of Finn and Lauren and everyone else in this fucking world disappeared.

Because all Puck could see was her. Those chocolate eyes glistening as they stared back at him when the song's last chords faded.

Figgins came back on stage, clapping in pointed _ass-off-the-stage_ way, and he and the midget made their exit.

She'd led him around the long way—backstage and down the hall that led back to the lobby. It was right before they reached the door that she'd turned to face him.

"Noah, I know the dance isn't quite over: that there are still dances to partake in and then formal goodbyes and—"

"Berry, twenty-five words or less," he cut her off, watching her curiously as she seemed to gather her courage.

She lifted her head, locking eyes with him pointedly. "I know about the room Noah," she told him.

Puck's eyes widened—shit, he was getting in trouble _now_? "Look, B, it's—" he began to explain, but she interrupted.

"And I think we should use it—tonight, now," she told him.

"No, really, I just—wait, what?" the muscular boy gawked at her, completely baffled by the words that had left her mouth.

The tiny brunette took a timid step toward him. She reached up to gently stroke his jaw, then pulled his head to hers and began to kiss him passionately. Puck's mind was still baffled, but his body was more than willing as he wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth as it opened to him and pushing her up against the wall. He groaned as she fell into that damned habit of hers, nipping his bottom lip, and his hand found its way behind her and to the zipper of her dress.

Fortunately, his mind finally caught up to them (at least to the point of realizing they were in a hallway that had full access to a very public ballroom and lobby) and he managed to pull his face off of hers, purposely trying to avoid that dark, lusting look in her eyes as they both tried to catch their breath.

"Berry…wait a sec…" he told her, panting as he tried to get his body under control. Slightly disheveled Berry actually looked even hotter than coy tease Berry had.

She took a step toward him again, placing her hand on his arm (_dead kittens, dead kittens, dead kittens…_). "Noah, I've really thought about this," she told him. "I've always thought I wanted my first experience with intimacy to be this big theatrical moment: with candles and romance and soft spoken professions of true love, and a leading man worthy of devotion and biographical mention." She let her head drift slightly back to the door that led back to the dance.

Her brown eyes shifted back to his hazel ones, her gaze determined. "But I realize now that what I want is just to be wanted: to have a moment that makes me feel beautiful and special; and I think I want that moment to be here, with you." She looked up at him expectantly, leaning in slightly to kiss him again.

Puck listened to her speech—the whole thing, which was difficult to do with the straining hard-on developing in his boxers as her satin fingers held his arm, her soft lips so damn close to his. His mind was going fuzzy as he watched her lean in, her vanilla-lilac perfume coiling around him and her eyes half-closed. It took more willpower than he ever thought he could've had, but he pulled away.

"Arrgh; Rache I can't," he told her, spinning away from her and practically banging his forehead against the wall. "'S not right. Not for you."

She blushed furiously at his rejection. "Noah, if this is about Finn—"

"It's not. Well, not exactly. I'm not really giving a shit about what Golden Boy thinks about all of this,"

"I understand if you're not interested in exclusivity Noah; I'm not asking for a relationship-" she tried again.

"But you should, Rache," Puck found himself rambling, trying to explain why a stud like himself was not taking advantage of the exact situation San swore would never in a million years happen. "Look, this is about _you,_ Berry—this kinda thing will matter to you. I mean, I could take you tonight, and don't get me wrong—it would be fucking phenomenal. The ways I could leave you moaning my name, your fuckin' hair hitting the mattress, back arching as my fingers make you writhe in those damn sheets…" He hissed, realizing he was making things worse on himself, and tried to get back to the point.

"But it's not right for someone like you Rachel. You're going to want to look back and remember cashing your V as a big emotional connection or something, not some kick-ass romp in the sack." He took another breath, and looked into the curious eyes that watched his profession. "Look; your first time, you'll always remember. And while _I_ don't regret remembering forever me and San all sweaty on the couch in her pop's consultation office, I don't want you to have a similar experience. Your first should be special, should mean something more than just a cliché high school moment with McKinley's resident sex god." He rubbed his hand hard across his face, completely disbelieving he'd just passed up getting some with the midget that'd been making him crazy for the last year.

That same midget that was quiet now; considering his words as he tried to calm himself down. When he finally looked back to her, he saw she was smiling softly at him (though still blushing slightly).

"Noah, that was very…noble of you," she told him. She lifted herself onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips lightly across his cheek. "I know that your reputation is still quite important to you, though, so if you'd like to—"

"Fuck; couldn't get in there anyways, diva," Puck said, smirking slightly. "S and Britt beat you by about ten minutes. They're probably naked and sweaty by now."

Rachel smiled, laughing quietly as he grinned at her. "You know, I think I'm done being here," she told him. "Do you want to go back to my house and watch a movie or something?"

He smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he opened the door leading out to the lobby. "Sounds like a plan, Berry."

As they made their way out to the parking lot, he added, "Hell, maybe we could watch that crazy musical with the psycho barber or something," and smiled as her cheerful laughter carried through the air.


	10. Epiphany

A/N: so sorry it took forever to get this last chapter up guys! my computer and fanfic were not getting along. but now, just before the actual episode, they've decided to make up, so yea me!

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><p>The first streaks of daylight poured through the blinds of Rachel Berry's living room. She rubbed her eyes and shifted slightly on the couch.<p>

She was somewhat startled when a large, muscular arm snaked itself around her waist, pulling her closer to a chiseled chest. The tiny brunette couldn't help but smile as she heard Noah sigh contentedly as he buried his face into her hair and drifted back to sleep.

Noah's arm loosened slightly, and she reluctantly wriggled out of his warm embrace and made her way to the bathroom. As she brushed her hair and washed her face, she took stock of herself.

It had been a surreal night—Prom and then leaving for her house. They'd fallen asleep on the couch together, dressed in a pair of gold star flannel pajamas (her) and boxers and a wife beater (him) after spending the night watching musicals she thought he'd like—_Sweeney Todd_,_ Lil' Shop of Horrors_, and _Repo! The Genetic Opera_.

She was still a virgin; but the self-proclaimed sex stud was probably right about what she wanted in her first time, so that wasn't really a loss. The petite girl stared at her reflection, wondering if he'd drawn an obvious parallel to what she said she had wanted and what she'd had with Finn. Maybe she'd wanted him to, just to tell her whether she was right or not. The mowhawked boy did seem to have a surprising amount of insight, considering his hormone-driven decisions, and she didn't feel that he'd let her down. She really did want something special, _someone_ special in her life to share her first intimate experience. And while she still didn't think Noah would have been (or would be) a wrong decision, the timing had left something to be desired.

She saw her phone lit with messages on the counter, and pressed to view. _Were r u?; I need 2 talk 2 u; I think i made a mistake; R u w Puck?; U didnt let him take u 2 that room?; Rachel, pls talk 2 me; Were r u?_ She sighed and closed her phone. She didn't need to talk to Finn to read between the lines of his horrendous texting: it was likely he and Quinn had gotten into a fight, maybe over her, and he was reconsidering their relationship, and possibly hoping to simultaneously save her from Noah and revisit any residual feelings he had for her.

It was a painful cycle, the triangle established between herself, Quinn, and Finn. They both loved him, and he seemed to love them both; but nobody seemed to realize that it was crippling all of them. When Finn was with Rachel, he made her feel insecure and overly possessive (possibly magnified by his attempts to spare her feelings by omitting certain important facts). When he was with Quinn, he still paid an inappropriate amount of attention to the brunette (as evident by Prom's events). And when he was single, he stared longingly at both while keeping them both close and at a distance. It was just emotionally exhausting.

Rachel opened the door and began walking back down the hall. She glanced at the sleeping form on the couch and smiled softly as she padded to the kitchen, pouring herself an orange juice. Noah had always been a good friend, no matter his motive. He stood up for her when no one else did. He cared about her integrity and to some extent her feelings, but wasn't afraid to call her out in his blunt, somewhat crude manner. She didn't feel inferior or insecure when she stood next to him, which seemed curious considering his less-than faithful tendencies and his devil-may-care reputation. He may not be interested in being her boyfriend (though he'd certainly hinted at such a desire, the way he had kissed her last night), but he had stayed here, with her, watching musicals and holding her while they slept.

She placed her glass in the sink and replaced herself on the couch next to her sleeping date, smiling as his arm once again pulled her closer, making her feel safe and wanted. Lauren and Finn were idiots, and she was no longer going to allow herself to be dissuaded from the person who'd been so wonderful to her.

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><p>Santana shifted as she woke, but didn't open her eyes. She could hear the shower running, so she knew Britt was awake and about. She felt the soft sheets rumpled around her, and snuggled deeper into the memory of last night. She smiled as she let her head flop against the soft pillow.<p>

Finally, the Latina sat up groggily and looked around. The mini bar was still open, raided of cute little Bailey's bottles and king-sized candy bars. She smirked: Puck was going to throw a shit fit when he got the bill on this. But how could she deny Brit anything, when the blonde had been so certain that three dollar candy bars had to be better than regular ones, and that tiny bottles of alcohol were meant for super light-weights? She'd been thrilled when San told her to keep them.

And the night itself had been amazing. It was everything Britt deserved: romantic and special and full of that feelings thing she loved so much. San had to admit though, it did kind of feel more intense when she had soft red lips whispering "I love you" as they trailed along the shell of her ear.

And now it was morning. And tomorrow would be school. And Santana Lopez, Top Bitch of William McKinley High School, had no idea how to handle it.

When it was just her and Britt, it was easy. Hell, it was fantastic—who the fuck cared if she was straight or a lesbian or whatever? But out there? It mattered. Sure, she'd gone to Prom with Rachel Berry on one arm, but with Puckerman there she had been cast in public opinion as Hot Bitch on his comeback tour. And that thing with Berry at Breadstix? Easily explained as a tease for the male population (guys are so sure everything is about them)—hell, Hudson and Quinn probably thought it was the diva's idea. Even in her original plan of just having the midget as a date, it wasn't to come out so much as to show the school she could look hot on _anybody's_ arm, including a girl that had been nicknamed RuPaul and Treasure Trail since junior high.

Britt though, she'd want to be a real couple— walking down the hall, fingers entwined; official status change on Facebook; looking disheveled in between periods from making out in the janitor's closet. And the dark-haired girl knew that it would cause trouble. She didn't want to deal with stupid homophobes like Karofsky, didn't want to actually step up her bitch just to maintain the same level of respect she got now. It was going to be hard and complicated, and Santana Lopez hated complicated.

Britt would never go for being on the down low; hell, she probably would think it meant walking closer to the ground. But if San told the blonde she wasn't ready now, she may never get her back.

Santana felt the corners of her eyes prick, and she brushed them furiously. Even alone, she wasn't going to let sentimentality or feelings crap get in the way of her figuring out what she should do next.

Just then, the door to the bathroom opened (when had the shower turned off?) and Brittany emerged in a flimsy fleece towel amidst a smoke of steam. Her blonde locks were dark, wet, and tangled, and trailed messily down her back as she smiled at the tanned girl, now awake and sitting amidst the creamy sheets.

_I know feelings aren't easy. And I know you're scared of people. But you love me, and I love you—and that should be enough, right?_

San smiled back and crawled to the foot of the bed to meet the beautiful Amazon in front of her. Santana Lopez would be damned if she would be accused of being scared of people, and if she had to beat the shit out of every student at McKinley to walk proudly down the hall with her girlfriend, then fuck yeah she was going to.

Because, for possibly the first time in her life, Santana was head over heels in love—and actually willing to admit it.


End file.
